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thats-a-weird-warning-sign · 9 months

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congrats on finishing your exams, may i request a camilith + 20?

20 - A kiss on a scar So full disclosure this got away from me a bit...

Camila has always struggled with patience. There’d bever been the time for it - she’d had too much to do, siblings to care for and a mother to coax through each day. She had a father to mind and a stepfather to avoid. She’d wake with the dawn and be moving through until the darkest part of the night. She had no time for patience, so the convent was a bit of a shock, at the beginning.

It was a shock for more than that, obviously. There was the shock of the gunfight, the shock of the deal-gone-wrong, the shock of seeing your stepfather point a gun at you. There was the shock of cold water; off the bridge to avoid a bullet, wild with fear and half convinced this was all a fever dream.

The shock on her mother’s face was the loudest, hurt the most – when Camila had come home bloodied and bedraggled, clutching a fistful of notes barely cleaner than the river water, pressed her shaking hands to her mother’s, kissed her sisters goodbye and fled.

The shocks started to lose meaning after that. The shock of her father, barely sober enough to drive but parked outside a house he hadn’t laid eyes on in a decade – with the address of the nearest convent already pulled up on an ancient satnav, a grim smile and bloodied knuckles.

A convent was not the way Camila had been planning to reinvent herself, after she got out – but if nothing else, she was resourceful. There’s only so resourceful you can be in a stone building older than the United States of America, however – and it didn’t take long before Camila – novitiate camila – was being transferred to somewhere her skills might be a little better utilised.

It was beautiful to be back in Spain, but it hurt. Camila didn’t expect it to ever stop hurting – but she was resourceful. She learned new skills, swore she’d never again have to plunge into icy water to end a fight, and she never wrote home. She didn’t even think of home, she didn’t think of her sisters or her mother, she didn’t worry if her father was drinking himself to death or if her mother had fallen back into that sad empty stupor.

She forgot her name, she laid it to rest, she’d died in that river.

She had to have died in that river.

She never expected it to stop hurting - those sorts of wounds don’t; they ache forever, and worse in the winter.

The first winter after her death is a quiet one. Spain is cold, as cold as it ever gets. Balmy compared to Caithness, but of course - she’s never lived in Caithness, wouldn’t know the difference - doesn’t miss the wind that makes your face burn.

Instead, she is swallowed entirely by a cathedral that is as beautiful as it is deadly – surrounded by women who have their own hidden, aching wounds. Camila has never been religious, but there is something about the OCS that makes the act of worship - the act of honing a body to a razor edge and sending it out to cut and dress an offering - far more real than stale bread and watery wine.

Camila is adaptable.

Camila is adaptable, and resourceful, and so painfully lonely it has almost stopped hurting. But then, on Christmas eve, or very very early on Christmas morning, long after midnight mass, long after she should have been tucked into her narrow bed, she sits at a piano that sounds like it’s older than the church itself, and she plays. She plays quietly, delicate with the silence thick around her, afraid to shatter it with a duff note. She plays and she hums, and she tries with all that she has not to think of home.

Shannon, Sister Shannon, Warrior Nun and honoured leader of the OCS in spirit and body, finds her sat staring at her hands in silence. She folds her long, lethal body to sit beside Camila at the piano bench, smiles a rueful smile.

They don’t speak of much, but the memory of that conversation – of the sleep hazy chill, sat shoulder to shoulder with a woman who Camila is supposed to believe carries a shard of the divine – that memory sits heavy for a long time.

It sits heavier after Shannon is gone. It sits heavier when Sister Beatrice stands at her shoulder in tight-lipped silence, a wan smile and faint assurance that Camila’s second field mission will go better than the first. It settles into a steady weight after that, a pressure on her bones that makes her creak at the hinges as she hacks into police databases and hijacks security cameras – as she storms strobe lit laboratories and shoots glowing arrows at a demon she can see only in the carnage it leaves behind and the fear in the eyes of the resurrected woman running from her.

The new pain and the old pain burn together for a while, as the weather draws in and the skies darken and the new warrior nun runs from them time and again. Lilith is killed, and Camila sees the weight on Mary’s shoulders double – couldn’t hope to understand the history but recognises the ache in the stoop of strong shoulders.

She’s had scars aplenty, collected them like badges of honour for a while – had them pinned upon her by more hands than she could count. The scars the OCS gives her are a little different, a little deeper. They’re cleaner than the memory of barbed wire that gives texture to the field of poppies that wraps her bicep, or the burn that silvers the swords on her forearm. Camila doesn’t even see them anymore. She’s carried worse, is under no illusion that she will carry worse once again. At least her scars and her aching, burning wounds are of this world. Camila knows her pain, knows its cause and can tell when the weather will turn an aching to a gnawing.

Under fluorescents once again, with an invitation this time – cool glass and air conditioning soothing the weight of cloth and hood, she watches Ava bend the laws of physics and fall into Beatrice’s arms as if her gravity was suddenly greater than earth’s. There are scars there too, she knows, but the two of them together look set to soften each other’s sharp edges.

Camila has never had a scar ripped open again, guards old wounds carefully like any good soldier; the skin is weaker there, aches to bleed once more.

Lilith rends a tear in the skin of the world, falls through a door and a hole in reality, here and alive and raw and as confused as Camila is. They sit together, and Camila chooses to smile, chooses to dress another’s wounds. They sit together for a scant few hours, and Lilith weeps and burns with a pain that Camila can see will break her. Camila has dressed more wounds than she can count, but there is no gauze for this, no salve to ease the fear in Lilith’s eyes.

Camila is not patient, and it is for the best – their days run helter-skelter into chaos, they roam far and wide, they unearth a monster, commit the most brazen act of destruction of property Camila has ever attempted.

They are betrayed.

Camila is not patient. They run again, lose Mary to a sea of clawing hands and screaming. She dresses a deep gash in her own thigh, cleans masonry dust from Beatrice’s grazed forehead, washes the blood from Ava’s knuckles even as the halo sews skin back together.

They run, but at least she’s free of the habit. They run, from the church and the demon they released - and from their own sister.

Camila had seen that Lilith’s pain was too great to bear. Sometimes, she wishes she was wrong about these things – that practice didn’t make perfect.

Ava’s curious hands find the scars on her arms, trace the ink that hides them. Beatrice deftly re-stitches Camila’s thigh when she pushes too hard, when blood soaks her third-hand cargo pants and draws attention that they cannot afford.

Lilith comes to her, sometimes – in the darkest part of the night. The first time, Camila draws steel against her, has a knife to Lilith’s throat in a half second of adrenaline. Her fear drives the blade into flesh that hisses with fire as it heals, silvered and scaled and whole again. Lilith’s eyes burn too, in the dark – her words burn, acidic, angry – at everything and everyone. She stays just long enough to insult each of her sole surviving sisters, but Camila can hear the grief laying thick behind the fury.

Mother Superion sends them coordinates, sends them into warehouses and factories, sends them after whispers of twisted miracles. She sends them into fistfights, gunfights, fights for their lives. She sends them to fight for the lives of others – Ava learns a hundred ways to tell her sisters of the possessed – shorthand gestures, a change in posture. Camila would swear sometimes that Beatrice reads the thoughts straight out of Ava’s head.

Sometimes, Mother Superion sends them coordinates to slaughterhouses – the fight they anticipate already long over, the remains of their enemies left - bloody afterthoughts, or offerings.

Lilith’s visits track slowly westward, cataloguing the scattered safehouses and motels that mark their journey back to Malaga, to the fluorescent-lit labs and hungry cathedrals that began this. She appears in fire in courtyards, on roofs, in graveyards – never again setting foot in whatever bare space Camila is sleeping in. The first thing Camila sees each time Lilith steps out of the fire and into the light is the delicate silvered scar over her right common carotid – the artery hidden under scales that catch and throw light like cut glass.

Lilith comes bloodied and grim, comes silent, comes roaring her fury, comes weeping her failure. Lilith hunts Mary, haunts those who might have taken her. Camila aches, carries the weight of another loss - wishes she’d named herself Judith as she’d crawled from the river, counts the lost causes as they sit around the breakfast table.

Camila is not patient, but she is observant, and she has learnt the skill of walking diagonally toward something you want so as not to spook it into flight. Camila is not patient, but she is resourceful; she has learned how to be many things to many people, so it is a pleasant surprise to be asked to be no one other than herself. Camila is not patient, but there are some things she is willing to try for.

Lilith comes for the last time in the evening, stumbles from shadows trembling and bleeding. Lilith has never appeared where Beatrice may see her – has not faced Ava since the Vatican, but now she falls to her knees not two steps from the aged sofa they’re resting on. Camila jolts from the table, scatters half-fletched bolts and oiled blades in her hurry to press hands to Lilith’s bleeding wounds. Lilith trembles under her hands, bloodied up to her hairline and gasping for every breath.

She says Mary is gone and the shape of her sprawled here makes sense. She says Mary is gone and Beatrice turns to stone, Ava the only one able to voice her pain.

Mary is gone, Lilith weeps, scaled hands upturned, head bowed in supplication. All of Lilith’s scars are highlighted in silver. Camila runs soft hands over rough-plated shoulders, warmth burning beneath her palms.

Camila isn’t patient, but she has some knowledge of passing through death and having to press on through the other side of it. She has some experience of walking back into a home and finding that all of a sudden it sits wrong in the shoulders and the sleeves are too short and someone has moved the table 3 inches to the left. Camila isn’t patient, but she is sorry.

Later, when Lilith has cried herself out, Camila will coax her upright and cajole a mug of tea into her hands. She will lead her gently by the hand into their dingy bathroom to wipe the blood from her brow, she will press the softest clothes they have into her shaking hands. She will tuck Lilith beneath a pile of blankets and sit with her until exhaustion takes her. Then she will check on the rest of her sisters. Then she will cry.

Now, Lilith weeps into her shoulder, presses her forehead into Camila’s collarbone hard enough to hurt. Camila lets her cry, hushes hands up and down a shivering spine. Camila is not patient, but she understands that a vessel can only contain so much before it spills; before it cracks. Camila cups the back of Lilith’s head and presses her lips to the only place she can reach - the only place she deserves. The scales had looked like glass each time they drew her eye, but they are warm, soft. Beneath her lips Lilith’s pulse runs fast and strong.

Camila isn’t patient, but some things are worth waiting for.

#whoops this is over 2k #camila my beloved #Lilith my fave sopping wet beast of a woman #I just have a lot of feelings about them ok #Inflicting my Camila backstory on you all you're so welcome #This was v fun I have not written in Months sorry it is rusty #Anon prompt #Warrior nun #Siggy writes things

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ultimatetsumikiapologist · 8 months

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webkinz cat of a woman

#sopping wet beast #my beloved cringe fail loser girl #giggling blushing kicking my feet as i rotate her in my head #its blorbofying mikan hours sowwy #should i main tag this #eh fuck it #mikan tsumiki #danganronpa #super danganronpa 2 goodbye despair

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3dfangs · 2 years

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OK THINKING MORE. literally so upsetting to think spamton is so so desperate to get to ‘heaven’ (the light world is how im taking that in this case) that the only thing keeping him going is getting big enough to get there, or possibly / willing to kill someone to take their soul to get him there. To go to a new place where no one knows him and no one hates him and everything will be ‘better’ (<- it will not but this is the only thing he has left to look forward to)

And if he CANT do that he’s willing to become an evil ‘god’ of his own dark world and do everything in his power to hurt everyone who ever hurt him...

Its escapism or revenge. You either escape or you kill.

#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MAKING ME INSANE #kai.txt #sorry everyones probably already talk about this but WOW does that HURT #spamton my beloved. he is a sopping wet beast to me. sad!

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chaotic-minds-think-alike · 1 month

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Your bugs are fantastic! When in artblock, the two best things to do (for me at least) are

1. Focus on something else you enjoy for a bit (everyone’s heard that one before)

2. DRAW THINGS PURPOSEFULLY SHITTY YEAAAAA MAKE THE WORST THINGS YOU CAN FOR FUN. u gotta own it babey don’t let that shit win. commit creative arson to prove you bow to no one >:3

Well….. I have been playing Path of Titans a lot lately… and..

My beloved,,, her name is Blacksting (game randomized) and she crashes into the ocean more often than any other flying related injury

Sopping wet beast who also soloed an acro and won !!

#thunderposting i guess #myart #path of titans #bird #bird of prey #I HATE combat but I need to not be so scared #If it’s anything I do play a no rules server so dying is inevitable #it makes me feel a bit better about losing fights

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quietwingsinthesky · 18 days

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Final Doctor Who TV Movie Thoughts

incredibly homosexual undercurrents. why’s the master Like That. they had to be doing that on purpose. i mean, just the robes alone. he dresses for the occasion. oh there’s definitely queercoding here. also he got tardis vored. nuwho bring up that time he got tardis vored challenge. no im not being weird about it i just want him to describe to the doctor what being digested by a time machine was like. did he enjoy it. wait come back i have more things to say about the movie-

eight is a sopping wet cat. i understand why he is beloved. i too wish to wrap him in a warm towel and/or beat him with hammers. he’s adorable. he’s fun. once again, somehow they managed to find a perfect guy to cast as the doctor. how do they do that. not a single miss so far??? out of the seven i’ve met??? not one????? incredible. loved his little vest, loved his humming, loved how he had absolutely zero chill ever and did not know how to Not talk about being a freak alien man, loved that he had amnesia for all of like seven minutes for no reason.

i really liked grace and lee. grace is a great straight man to the doctor’s bouncy nonsense, and she saved the day by figuring out the tardis :D also swerved the bullet of loving that man, thank GOD. get out of there girl. you saw what his ex was like. lee is my favorite kind of doctor who character, of which right now the category is him and lucy saxon. the master’s temp companions <3 love when that awful terrible man has to play nice to achieve his goals. love when he has to bond with people against his will. also hilarious to me that lee was just like ‘no, i really am just in this cause he’s gonna give me money and power.’ and the movie says he is RIGHT to want this, just wrong for trusting the master to give it to him, so he gets it in the end. good for him. direct action.

the plot was bonkers nonsense and that made it better. so funny to me that they retconned in the doctor being half-human but it never comes up as plot relevant ever and it will never be mentioned again. the eye of harmony is <3 bless <3 so fucking stupid <3 whys it take a human to open it. why can you open it when all it seems to do is suck up planets and time lord lives. why do they even have that lever. there’s like a horrifying implication here that time lords would keep a human onboard just so that they’d have a way to open their tardis’s eye of harmony. same energy as having a canary for your coal mine. i know this wasn’t intentional but it’s just fucked up enough that i almost want it to be canon despite it being so stupid, if only because it adds another layer to the doctor mostly seeming to gravitate towards human companions. but probably best if, like a lot of things this movie decides should be canon, we ignore it.

we shouldn’t ignore the master being able to goop people with his spit though. that’s hilarious. i wanna see them bring that back in modern who. look, any master would do BUT. i feel like for the best effect we gotta bring mr simm back so he can spit goop on people like a feral beast. here’s how saxteen can still win-

what else. what else. guys. that’s a really fun movie. it was Not good. but it was amazing. you get me? i had a great time. structurally it was a mess, the story was in shambles, but i do not care. all the characters were fun, the eighth doctor is fantastic, and i loved it. its probably gonna be a comfort movie of mine from now on. its just so silly.

#dw lb #dw the tv movie

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1shimaru · 2 months

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Im reading frankenstein w my brother (school assignment, Im reading w him to stay on task) and WHY are these guys so GAY for every man they meet???

captain: I long for a friend, my intellectual equal. Today, I picked up a sopping wet man from my expeditions and he is so enticing... his eyes are soft and kind, but he talks of a dark and mysterious past... He called me friend, and all my crewmates are also smitten with him. I am twirling my hair as I write this.

Victor: Everyone i cared abt saw me off to school. My father gave me his blessing, my beloved sister her smile, and my best friend a hearty hand to hold, and a kiss, with tongue. Then while at school, I met a teacher who treated me normal and I went to his house where he showed me some of his... personal machines... that I may use them someday. God I want him in me.. SIGH... Here's a paragraph that will sound absolutely insane but dont worry, Im not evil or anything. Im just set on making an 8ft tall beast of a man 🫣

#talking

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littencloud9 · 21 days

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Sorry for being late in ask game. How about : William (MTP), Lu Guang (Link Click), and Akutagawa (BSD)? Feel free to answer how many that you want....

hii anon no problem!! im happy to answer more always

william

Sexuality and Gender Headcanon: ‘im probably queer but ive got a system to abolish so idrc about that rn’

A ship: sherliam. it’s just too good. equals in every sense two sides of the same coin yin and yang light and dark hope and destruction etc etc. a work of ART

A BROTP: THE MORIARTY BROTHERS!! they are the absolute world to me i love them SO much

A NOTP: him with either brother lol. ill admit i was a little surprised at the amount of content they have romantically but to each their own 👍

A random headcanon: touchstarved liam my beloved…

General Opinion: he makes me absolutely fucking miserable. i want to give him a big hug. there is something so wrong with him. id defend him with my life. babygirl you can commit every war crime there is and i’d say it’s justified

lu guang

Sexuality Headcanon: gay as hell. why are you as a man—

Gender Headcanon: he transcends gender and i will not elaborate

A ship: shiguang!!!

A BROTP: also him and qiao ling. i’d love to see them interact more especially cause they have such a sibling-like relationship too

A NOTP: him and li tianchen idk. they just dont work like that to me

A random headcanon: he secretly has a sweet tooth. this was told to me by the gods

General Opinion: sopping wet cat. big freaking hypocrite (me too). i cant even scold him cause if i had cxs in my life id go batshit insane for him too. im holding him by the scruff of his neck and throwing him in the air. lu guang u dumbass (affectionate)

akutagawa

Sexuality Headcanon: man we’ve got a lot of gay characters on this list huh

Gender Headcanon: i like the idea of t4t akutagawa siblings who just swapped names pfft. nb akutagawa is good too! i can fw anything here

A ship: haha… sskk. i also think beast!aku x beast!tanizaki is really cute

A BROTP: HIM AND GIN!! idc that they have like three seconds of screen time in canon cause [gestures to beast]

A NOTP: i do not vibe with higu.aku or daz.aku at all

A random headcanon: he used to use rashoumon to entertain the kids when they were too afraid to sleep at night. he’s a really good bedtime storyteller

General Opinion: picture a black cat with huge void eyes and also it’s dripping wet and clawing at you. thats akutagawa to me. id give him a hug but he’d bite my leg off but maybe that’s his way of saying thanks. i could fix him i could make him worse etc etc

send me characters!

#asks #ask game #this is such a different reaction im having compared to other characters ive been sent. not sorry

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ghosttbeef · 10 months

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wait i have to tell you all about the thrilling saga of Finch and her little Babyguy that's been gripping me and my roommates' group chats. So, Finch is my beloved little tabby cat that is the largest handful of a beast i have ever had the pleasure of sharing my home with and Babyguy is her favorite little mouse or perhaps fish (there is much debate about this.) that she likes to carry around. She doesn't really have a noticeable preference for other toys so we were quick to name this one

her relationship to Babyguy is very.... yknow that one post about the kid that soaked their webkinz in milk and threw it against the wall a lot? It's like that. Finch's favorite Babyguy activities are

Walk around with him in her mouth in the dead of night and wail hauntedly like the ghost of a drowned victorian orphan

Violently swinging and throwing him around (This is how i assume he lost his tail)

Repeatedly curb-stomping him in the hallway. Like, she does that rabbitkick thing cats do but while standing on him. It's incredible I've never seen a cat do that before.

Drown him and hide him somewhere.

The drowning thing quickly became an issue because a.) she would get her water bowl disgusting immediately by dunking him in there and b.) she kept leaving his sopping wet body around for me to discover by stepping on him wetly in the middle of the night. So, I had to confiscate him so he could dry (which took two entire days the first time.) because she clearly loves and cares about him deeply I returned him and. well. she drowned him within an hour

thus began the endless cycle of me confiscating Babyguy to dry, returning him, and Finch drowning him again. She is always overjoyed to get him back and always drowns him within a day- though she is starting to wise up to the fact that I will take him away- she even tucked him into my laundry once for nappies safe keeping.

Babyguy is now crusty and misshapen but that doesn't put a damper on Finch's ...devotion? to him? But now whenever he's out I am giving people the play by play on what's happening with him, whether or not he gets drowned, etc etc. it's really something. Idk why it's got us all in a deathgrip but it Sure Does. One of my beloved friends and coworkers even became Babyguy in our group chat

here, more photos of finch and babyguy for your troubles also

#ghostt talks #babyguy saga #my cat finch from trigun

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mysterioh · 4 years

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The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 7

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

SYNOPSIS: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge of art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

How to Keep Meeting Your Beloved Stalker

"I'm coming," Nat hollered from the kitchen, turning down the heat of her stove. She walked towards the door and opened it to find Steve standing, a sopping wet mess.

His clothes were drenched from the rain. His hair a disheveled mess and face flushed as if he'd been crying. He had a bouquet of soggy red roses hanging in his hand with water dripping off the petals, making a puddle on her carpet.

"Stevie, what the hell?" Nat asked. "Are you okay?"

Without a word, Steve slammed into Nat almost knocking the wind out of her. His wet coat arms wrapped tightly around her and he sniffles in her shoulder.

"She left, Nat," his voice dripping with pain. "Peggy left me in the rain," he choked out.

"Oh, Stevie," was all she could say as she rubbed his back, not even caring about getting wet.

"She told me that she'd never leave but she did," he said. "I loved her, Nat. I really loved her."

His words stung her heart and even the hardened black widow couldn't help but shed a tear. She had never seen him so broken.

He pulls away and digs his hand into his pocket. He takes out a velvet box and opens it to reveal a shining diamond ring.

Her lips parted in shock. "Steve…"

"I was gonna ask her to marry me," he sniffled. "But she told me that she'd never marry a devil like me."

Nat's lips twisted into a scowl. Her hands cup his cold face. A sort of warm respite for him.

"You're not a devil, you hear me?" Nat stated. "And she's a damn fool for leaving you."

She pulls him into another hug and it's quiet besides the slow humming of a steaming pot. With a slowly boiling anger within her, all she could think of was how much she'd love to beat the shit out of that bitch.

His eyes held a gaze more fearsome than a tiger. A thin paper cigarette hung from his bottom lip, a small trail of smoke escaping from the corner of his mouth and dancing upwards towards the ceiling. The air around him was majestic like a king on a throne. But he was far from his kingdom.

"So," Steve started, getting comfortable in a leather tufted seat. "A little bird told me you guys have been sneaking behind my back," Steve stated, looking up at the two brothers in front of him.

The tan-skinned brunette smiles at him puzzled, but the way he shifted in his office chair uncomfortably was enough to answer Steve's conjecture.

"Don't know what you're talkin' about," Lucky shakes his head.

Lucky Gambino. Age 32. Italian. Head of the Gambino Crime Family presiding over Staten Island.

"C'mon Rogers," his younger brother Sunny drawled. "You think we'd be sneaking behind your back?"

"I've got eyes everywhere, Sunny," Steve stated calmly, setting a sinister air to the room. "Hard for anything to pass by me."

Sunny chuckles with his hands in his pockets and leaning against his brother's desk. The room was dimly lit despite it being well into the afternoon. Sunbeams filtered through the half-lidded blinds, acting as a sort of spotlight for the fumes that escaped their cigarettes.

"Stevie, y' know us well," Lucky spoke with his hands. It's just an Italian thing. "We went to Saint Anselm's together. Played ball in that rundown field between Gino's Pizza. You remember those days?"

Steve nods with a small smile. "Yeah, I do."

"Our pop's worked with yours' for years. We've got a bond. You're like family, man," Sunny said.

Steve smirked. Good thing he wasn't so sentimental when it came to the business.

"Then what's this news about you and Hydra working together?"

"Hydra?" Lucky guffawed. "You think we'd be working with those no-names?"Sunny laughed along.

"We aren't the Brooklyn Mob, but we're sure as hell not some third-rate gang like Hydra. We're the Gambinos, we'd never stoop that low."

Steve chuckled along. "Right," Steve said while getting up. "I guess there's nothing I need to worry about here."

"Not a damn thing," Sunny assured. "We're on your side, big boss."

Steve chortles as he turns to leave. He gives them a nod as he exits the room.

"Have a good day, Mr. Rogers," the receptionist said with a smile as he walked by.

"You too, Miss Hill," he grinned with the corners of his eyes and a wave of his hand. He pressed the button of the elevator and entered it, listening to something rustling behind him.

He turns to see Maria getting up from her desk, her heels clicking as she walked towards the office. A gun complete with silencer resting snug between her fingers.

"Maria," he called and she turned to look at him.

"Don't make a mess," he gave her a half-smile.

She snorts with a sly smirk as the doors of the elevator begin to close.

"You know I never do."

Nat plopped herself on top of Bucky's desk.

Bucky smiles at her, slightly peeved by the way she carelessly sits on the manifest for the next delivery.

"May I help you?"

"In fact, you can," she replied devilishly.

Bucky sits back in his chair as she hooks her leg over the other giving him a nice view of the outline of her salacious legs in a tight-fitting pencil skirt.

If he was any other man he would've been drooling a river by now, but after years of working together, Nat was just one of the guys. Nothing she did ever fazed him. Not like she was trying to or anything.

"How can I help you, Miss Romanoff?"

She bites her lip and he can tell something was bothering. "I'm worried."

"About?"

"About Steve," she said.

"I second that," Sam piped up from the other side of the room. "He's been kinda out of it, lately."

"It's because of the girl," Nat informed.

Bucky groaned while sinking in his chair. "I know."

"So what're we gonna do about it?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Bucky shrugged. "Just let him be. He'll get over it."

"It's been a week," Nat pointed out.

"And your point is?"

"Steve's made thirteen horrible decisions in the past week and he went to see the Gambinos today and I know for a fucking fact that it didn't end well." She sighed, crossing her arms. "I'm just worried about him," she confessed. "I mean after Peggy he's never really been the same and this girl just made it worse."

The two fell silent at the mention of Peggy. She was just one of those people that they didn't talk about, especially when Steve was around.

"I know that you are," Bucky said. "We all are, but you know Steve. He doesn't want help until he asks for it."

"We can't just sit here and ignore it!" Nat bent forwards and into him. He shrinks underneath her. "If he keeps this up, he's gonna die!"

"Don't you think that's a bit dramatic," Sam stated.

"Okay maybe not die but the direction he's going in it's only going to get worse," Nat said. "He still remembers her," Bucky's eyes shot up to look at her. "He still has that ring," she told them in a hushed voice.

She looks down to her hands in her lap. Her emotions were not easily hidden. She could've been the toughest in the mob but Bucky knew she was a softie at heart. Her worry was evident in the crease of her lovely brows and the down-curve of her full lips.

"Hey," Bucky called softly, placing his hand on top of hers. She looks up at him through red locks to find him smiling sweetly.

"It's gonna be fine, okay?"

"How do you know?" Nat question with a pout.

"Cause this is Stevie we're talking about," Bucky said. "No matter how far he falls, he always gets back on top."

One look into his steel-blue eyes, gleaming with a hidden affection, was all Nat needed to know that maybe everything really was going to be okay.

He glided along the white floors of the museum. Walking past bundles of children led by their teachers and casual visitors like a specter.

Steve had been to the Metropolitan more times than he could count on both hands. Art was his faithful lover and the galleries filled with masterpieces were his solace. But today, he didn't pay attention to the swirling brushstrokes of Van Gogh or the painstakingly pointillistic style of Seurat.

Today was a day for his thoughts. A day to reflect on his past. How was it that just a thought could bring back long-buried emotions and stir what was settled? Maybe that was why his mother said to leave things be, to not go walking into the past so blindly.

But what else is there to do when the way forward is the way back?

He finds himself in front of the old painting where he first met her. It could have been over three hundred years but Marie's lively youthfulness was eternal. He observes her, the way she teased him with her coy smile, hiding her letter from his eyes while sitting at her desk.

For some reason, he feels like she's taunting him.

You fool, you overdid it. You fall too fast.

"Yeah, I know," he huffed.

He hears your dull voice in his ears.

It's just an average painting.

He chuckled. He didn't understand how you took the everlasting masterpieces that were lauded through time so lightly. How you didn't see them the way he did.

Maybe, you were more different from him than he had initially thought. Maybe it was never meant to be.

He clicks his tongue at himself. Meant to be? He hardly even knew you.

"Steve, you fucking meatball," he groaned at himself, rubbing his face and gaining strange looks from others. "I hate my life," he moaned.

He peeks through his fingers to find Marie still smiling at him as if she had nothing else to do.

"Don't look at me like that," he pointed at her. "Yeah, I screwed up. I know I'm stupid. Don't rub it in my face."

"Are you okay?" He turned to find an old lady giving him a judging smile.

"Yeah," he chuckles sheepishly. "I-uh. I have to go. Sorry about that," he dashed.

He groans with a sigh. What was it with women and torturing him? Inanimate or animate. They just loved to hate him.

His shoulders drooped as he walked. He kept his eyes strictly on the ground to mask his embarrassment. So mortified by his own stupidity, he didn't dare to look anywhere but at the ground. A rather foolish thing to do when in public.

Oddly enough, you walked down the same hall, tasked with yet another horrible project. With your nose stuck in a map, you walked without caution and right onto the wet floor. Your foot slipped and the next thing you knew, your arms were in the air and a small yelp escaped you.

Steve caught you right before you fell. His big hands covered the small of your back with your arms wrapped around his neck.

Heat rushes to your cheeks and so does his as he keeps you suspended in his arms. For a moment in time, the world stills and all that's left is you and him.

His heartbeat was off its pacemaker, his breathing was heavy and deep as he looked into your eyes. They twinkled like the stars. His eyes traveled down towards plump red lips, parted slightly, inches away from his.

dammit dammit dammit

Just like him, you're caught in a daze. Lost in the ocean blue of his eyes. You never knew a pair of eyes could be this soft. And just like that day in the cafe you're trapped under him again. There was just something about his gaze that you'd never find in another person. Only in him. Even if you wanted to let go, you just couldn't find it in yourself to part from him.

Not too far off, Madame Boucher gazes at the two with her mischievous smile, still hiding the secret message in the letter from her lover.

In all the world, there isn't another like you, or me for that matter. We are two souls who feel like once upon a reality we were soulmates, eternal flames.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #mob!steve rogers x you #mob!steve rogers x reader #mobster!steve rogers #mob!steve #mob au #mobster steve rogers x reader #mafia steve rogers x reader #mafia steve rogers x y/n

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imagine-your-party-hosts · 4 years

Text

Salty Tea

Word Count: 2,146

Notes: This was my old piece for the @domesticbnhazine! I previously just had it in a google doc and wanted it to have a proper place on my blog.

Summary: It had been two years since the beloved and infamous class had graduated and began their long-awaited journey of pro-heroism when a wedding invite arrived in the mail, a small cat stamp in the corner. He was shocked - he had assumed it had been a messing up of addresses, though sure enough it was to his apartment, and when he opened the envelope and saw the names ‘Izuku Midoriya’ and ‘Ochaco Uraraka’ in their glittering gold he swayed on his feet and had to catch himself on the counter.

There was a lot to be said about Hero Class 1-A.

A majority of it could not be brought up, however, without the mention of Aizawa Shouta. After all, how could this group of students manage to tame the beast that had previously expelled all his students? What demon had they sold their soul too exactly to survive all their years at U.A.

Maybe the question should be asked of who exactly Aizawa had offered his soul to.

It was quite obvious - he’d laid it bare to the students of 1-A time and time again. He had sacrificed himself plenty of times for the good of his students and - as much as it pained him to admit it - he’d do it all over again if need be.

“You’re pretty soft on these kids!” Yamada had attempted to whisper in his ear sometime not long after these students had come to him - however, whispering had never been Yamada’s strong suit, and several heads suddenly popped up from the ten-paged essay they were supposed to be writing.

“I am not. Eleven pages,” Aizawa had said in response, knocking Yamada away from his desk and telling him to go bother Nemuri instead, and the heads suddenly sank back down to their papers.

“You’ve been pretty soft on these kids,” Yamada had said once in the teacher’s lounge. It was relaxed around the school - final exams had just ended, and graduation was nearing faster than Aizawa or his classroom had been prepared for.

“I have not,” Aizawa responded, stirring honey into the peppermint tea he was brewing that his class had bought him, the spoon knocking against the cat mug that his class had also gifted him. The kittens that stared up to him were all hand-painted little creatures, different for each of his student: a long-haired green Scottish fold, its tail too fluffy for its own good, constantly getting tripped on, curled around its little paws; a hissing abyssinian with bright red eyes that watched his every move of the spoon; a siamese with a scar trailing across his left eye, his ear a little mangled though a bright blue bow tied around his neck all the same. Aizawa’s vision blurred suddenly and briefly and he had to glance away so his tea wouldn’t be salty.

It had been two years since the beloved and infamous class had graduated and began their long-awaited journey of pro-heroism when a wedding invite arrived in the mail, a small cat stamp in the corner. He was shocked - he had assumed it had been a messing up of addresses, though sure enough it was to his apartment, and when he opened the envelope and saw the names ‘Izuku Midoriya’ and ‘Ochaco Uraraka’ in their glittering gold he swayed on his feet and had to catch himself on the counter.

They’re just kids, Aizawa thought to himself, ripping the invitation further from its hold, and he started with a revelation.

They’re adults.

A meow sounded from Aizawa’s ankles, and he hesitated, glancing down to the wide-eyed burmese that was watching him, making sure he wasn’t going to topple over. Aizawa could remember the day he got this cat - remember the day Kirishima had seen it outside in the rain from the school window and had promptly bounded from his seat regardless of Aizawa trying to stop him. “It’s raining, she can’t stay outside!” Kirishima had said when he’d came back in, his uniform sopping wet and dripping a puddle on the classroom floor. Aizawa’s lecture was immediately forgotten, as all the students suddenly hopped up to go look at the kitten curled up in Kirishima’s arms.

“She looks dopey,” Bakugou said, rolling his eyes, stepping away from it, though the cat’s wide yellow eyes just followed his figure. She meowed, loud enough for the students to all let out a simultaneous squeal.

“We can’t leave her out in the cold!” Kirishima repeated, and that was how Aizawa had ended up with a wide-eyed cat in his bag on the way home that chewed on his pens.

Aizawa would give Bakugou that she did look dopey.

He glanced back to the invitation in his hands, which was heavy and cold and held a thousand of his thoughts, ranging from the first time he saw little Midoriya and little Uraraka, terrified in his class, to the day of their graduation, much taller and much wiser than Aizawa had ever expected their little babbling forms to be. There was a brief moment that he faltered in the gold hue of the letters on the paper, before he suddenly sighed much louder than needed and went to get a pen to put in his RSVP.

These kids would be the death of him, and he knew that, and he did not mind one bit.

And so, six months later, Aizawa found himself sat in the pews beside Yamada, in a pressed suit that he’d let Yamada pick the tie for. They were matching, both such a bright and obnoxious yellow that Aizawa was blinded every time he glanced down to straighten it, but he supposed it wasn’t the worst thing Yamada could have picked out. It could be decorated with brightly colored birds, or it could make noise, so Aizawa would just consider the canary colored tie a blessing for now.

Midoriya was already standing at the front, though Aizawa had thought that for once he shouldn’t have been so early. He was completely red, freckles hidden in the crimson, his scarred hands shaking just barely. Aizawa could see the Scottish fold, its too-long and too-fluffy tail getting caught in his paws and making him tumble down, when suddenly music started playing from and Yamada nudged Aizawa’s shoulder to glance behind him.

It started with Mina and Bakugou, and he was surprised that their arms were linked together without a large argument, regardless of Mina’s bright, teasing grin and nudging of Bakugou’s tensed shoulder. The hissing and snapping Abyssinian was for once silent, its red eyes only staring straight ahead, while the Sphynx beside him was only flicking her tail back and forth playfully.

Then there was Tsuyu and Kirishima, Kirishima grinning brightly and marching down the aisle, Tsuyu being dragged behind him. Neither had wanted to be painted as a cat on Aizawa’s mug - Tsuyu had wanted to be a frog, naturally, and while she’d settled on being a hopping Munchkin kitten Kirishima was not content until he was proud German Shepherd, chasing after Sero’s much too long tail. Next was Jiro and Kaminari, Kaminari a rigid Bengal that the Manx beside him had to roll her eyes at and calm down. Iida walked down the aisle with Hagakure as his side; Iida was a Siberian that sat tall and regal, and Hagakure had said she wanted to be a Persian with their smushed-in faces that she adored, only seen for the bright pink collar it wore with its jingling bell.

Lastly came Todoroki and Momo, both smiling comfortably, seemingly at something shared a moment before the doors open - perhaps about Bakugou’s for once uncomfortable stance. Aizawa thought of the Siamese, with its torn ear and bright blue bow that was too big for its little frame, and when he saw Momo with her long hair down he had a remembrance of the Russian blue on his mug, pristine and beautiful with its perfectly groomed coat. He almost forgot what he was truly here for, wondering if he’d just came to check up on his students, who, yes, thank you, thank you, were alive and well, when Yamada shoved him once more and his breath caught in his throat.

Uraraka suddenly stepped out into the aisle, her father by her side. Aizawa had not thought he’d ever seen her in a long dress, and he’d never truly expected it, though here she was, in a long white wedding gown that flared out at her hips. She was grinning, tears already in her eyes, and Aizawa could not remember when exactly he’d felt tears pricking at the back of his own eyes. Uraraka still had her red, round cheeks, and Aizawa was suddenly overcome with the idea that he didn’t want Yamada to see him cry here when he saw that Yamada was already bawling. Uraraka was a small little ragdoll on his mug, fur a little pink at its cheeks, sitting beside the Scottish fold and trying to help it walk a little further without tripping on its tail, and when Aizawa turned some in his seat he saw the little Scottish fold crying as well.

Aizawa did not bother to stop the tear that fell down his cheek for once.

Yamada suddenly clapped Aizawa much too forcefully on his shoulder, jostling several more tears down his cheeks that he did reach up to hurriedly brush away. “It’s amazing that they’ve come this far, y’know?” he said in-between choked sobs.

Aizawa paused for a moment, before he slowly nodded his head, turning to watch Uraraka once more as her father led her down the aisle.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, underneath his breath, “Amazing.”

Throughout the whole ceremony the two teachers continued their tears; Yamada, loud and choking, Aizawa silent and almost serene. Aizawa however had managed to calm his crying by the time of the reception, while Yamada was still a sniffling mess beside him.

“Stop crying. It’s going to make your soup salty,” Aizawa told him once they’d sat down at a table with several of the other teachers, Nemuri teasingly nudging his elbow.

“Maybe I like it that way,” Yamada responded wetly, nudging Nemuri back.

At one point throughout the ceremony Kirishima made his way over to the reminiscing teachers’ table, pulling up a chair beside Aizawa.

“How’s that kitten?” he asked, still with the bright, sharp-toothed grin that he’d had since the first day he’d stepped foot in class 1-A.

Bakugou was not far behind. “Still look as dopey?” he asked, still with the sharp and smart gleam to his eyes.

Had they really aged, or was this just another day in the classroom, just another day of pretend?

Uraraka came up behind Yamada in her beautiful long dress, glittery and sparkling and Aizawa knew this was in no way and every way the same class that had left his care all those years ago.

“Yeah, still dopey,” Aizawa responded, and Uraraka laughed, Yamada giving a start when he realized she was behind him, suddenly starting his sobbing full force again.

“Aizawa-sensei!” Midoriya began as he came up beside his wife, reaching to place a hand to her side as he neared. It was such a strange sight, Aizawa thought, that he wasn’t stammering, that his hands weren’t shaking.

“You don’t have to call me that anymore,” Aizawa started to say, waving that off, however Kirishima pounced, clapping a hand down on his shoulder.

“Really, Shoto-san-“

“Never mind,” Aizawa said in response, while Yamada laughed loudly beside him.

“Speaking of that. I guess your last name is Midoriya, hmm, Ochaco-chan?” he asked, still shamelessly with the tears trailing down his cheeks, turning in his chair to the newlyweds behind him.

“You’re right! It’ll be something to get used to,” she said, grinning as she glanced over to her husband, and Yamada dabbed at his eyes, sighing over-dramatically about young love.

“Aizawa-sensei!” came another voice, Hagakure bounding up to join the table. “We all need a picture together!”

“Is that necessary-“ Aizawa began to say, though there was a sudden uproar cheer for a photo, Yamada the loudest of them all.

“Okay, okay!” Aizawa agreed, effectively settling them all down as Kirishima gathered the rest of the wedding party, his students grinning so brightly at him that Aizawa was almost blinded.

“Come on!” he was tugged from his chair by Kaminari and Kirishima, while Nemuri giggled and Yamada offered to take the photo. Ochaco grinned as he joined them, wrapping an arm around him and Midoriya while on the other side of him Kirishima hooked an arm around his shoulders.

“Everyone! You too, Bakugou!” Kirishima hooted, and, though he rolled his eyes, he still joined in, until everyone had their arms wrapped around someone.

“Smile!” Yamada said, and, apparently not satisfied, he repeated it louder. “SMILE!”

Aizawa was suddenly overcome with a feeling he could not place, surrounded by his old students at an event he’d never fathomed taking place, in a bright yellow tie that did not fit him. He could not believe he’d watched these children grow from students to heroes, from best friends to husband and wife, from children to adults. He felt the same uncomfortable pricking behind his eyes that had been following him all day, and he could not stop the tears that unexpectedly came down his cheeks.

Yamada only grinned a bright grin himself and snapped the photo.

#bnha #my hero academia #domesticbnhazine #aizawa shouta #midoriya izuku #uraraka ochako #katsuki bakugou #zine #my writing #todoroki shouto #kirishima eijirou #yamada hizashi #kayama nemuri #Kaminari Denki

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alison-anonymous · 5 years

Text

♡ loose cannon ♡ pt 2

Here's the second part everyone!! Please enjoy, let me know if you want more in the comments! No warnings, obviously!

The Burning Ice

♡♡♡

VK Day.

Also known as the day that ruined your life.

It had became known that Mal, Evie, Carlos, and Jay were going to be coming back to the Isle on many occasions to pick up people as the "lucky ones" to come and stay with them in Auradon a bit to have a chance at becoming "good". Some people saw this as a good thing. Hades saw it as a way to escape. You saw it as a wretched, horrible thing.

But when one certain VK Day rode around that Mal pulled out your name, everything changed. Apparently, everyone had been digging up some history on you and had decided that it would be good to give the little ice goddess a second chance. Of course, you absolutely refused to go at first. But after some convincing from Hades that you might able to make Mal free him so you could be together, you changed your mind.

So off you went, back to Auradon. Back to the people you hated. Of course, you did you best to make it work. Only for Hades. It was ONLY for him. When you got your powers back, Beast and Belle had it ordered that you have a power restricting chain placed around your neck once again. Just as a "precaution". Funny, you had thought. Back from prison and I'm still being treated like a prisoner.

Needless to say, you couldn't be an uncontrollable ice goddess without your powers. At least you finally had a bed to sleep in, though you missed sleeping on Hades's chest more than anything. Speaking of Hades, word had gotten around you were his girl. Mal was pretty pissed for a while, but finally cooled off once she realized that you were actually pretty chill. You soon befriended Mal and Evie, and Uma, whether you liked to admit it or not. Since you had been brought right before the time that Audrey ran crazy, you of course were enlisted to help defeat her. Mal removed your property restricting neck chain and once you felt the ice running through your veins once more, you knew... you were back.

But revenge wasn't first on your list, remember? Hades was. And he needed you to stay on Mal's good side. Plus, she was pretty sweet too.

So, using your slightly rusty and chaotic powers, you astounded the Pirate Trio and the VKs with your ice flurries and helped them take down Audrey. Unfortunately, you were forced to hold down the castle where Dizzy was and freeze anyone who dared touch her while they went to get the ember, so you missed seeing Hades. But according to Mal, he kept bugging her about how you were... the thought had brought a smile to your lips and a smirk to Evie's. But after you had helped them restore peace again, they brought the barrier down and all was well. You and Hades became one of the greatest power couples since Ben and Mal (who ended up adoring you) and life had finally gotten to where you had always wanted it to be.

Only... no one could fix you.

Despite the happy face you put on in front of the press and the family and friends, your powers hadn't changed since you left them. They were growing stronger and stronger, and you couldn't stop them. Stupidly, you tried to hide it. Especially from Hades, because he was under enough stress trying to be a good dad again, and you didn't want to worry him. But one day, when you and Hades were visiting Ben and Mal at the castle, and you snuck off to the library, you felt the all to familiar surge and before you knew it, the whole library was frozen. Including the poor librarian in it. Petrified, you quickly slammed and locked all the doors shut so no one could get in.

That was a bad idea.

Don't feel it, you tried to think. Conceal it. Don't feel it. Don't let it through. Hold it in. Don't let it out. Just breathe.

Don't let it show.

You, of course, being trapped in the library hadn't noticed it when it started to snow outside the library. Inside of the castle, I mean. Hades, who had been searching for you, caught sight of the strange weather and instantly knew it was his beloved girlfriend. He picked up his pace and once he saw the extravagantly huge double library doors with ice coating the polished surface, he gently pressed his hands against the chilly frame.

"Love?"

His voice was like a hand reaching down into the tossing waters to pull you out to safety. Wringing your hands together, you shivered from the fear that was taking over your body. He knocked softly on the door. Usually, he would have just broke in, but he could already tell that something was wrong. You never hid from him. And the ice and snow? Well, that spoke for itself. "Love, let me in. Let me help you.”

You tried desperately to calm your staggered breathing as you took gulp after gulp of air, pacing the frozen carpet. Small flakes of snow fell from the high ceilings above you and landed in your hair. The ice was coursing through your veins, pounding against your temples, begging you to give in to the power. Telling you to let it all go. But you had to contain it, you couldn’t bear to hurt anyone. No matter how badly you may wish to inflict harm upon those who have hurt you, you knew better than to let yourself slip into the cold. And the first step of not letting yourself go was to stop shutting people out. You could feel your irises begin to shimmer with a luminescent hue as you cautiously neared the door. Hades stood on the other side, his eyes scanning the frost coating the outer layer of the wood.

“Darling? Are you alright?” He closed his hand around the ember in his pocket and prepared to have to force the door open when the door suddenly cracked open on its own. Taking the opportunity, he quickly pushed the frozen door all the way open and shut it as soon as he was in the room. As soon as he laid eyes on your shaking, trembling, terrified form, he stalked up to you and wrapped his arms around you. Pressing you close to his warm chest, he buried his head in your hair and you blinked quietly from the shock that was still taking its course. A moment of silence passed as he silently inspected the damage you had inflicted upon the room. Hades had suspected that things would have gotten worse for you as soon as you got back on the mainland. He had tried figuring out ways to help you, but being as he was scared to use his ember on you and your family were too far gone, even he felt his hope start to chip around the edges.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be there for you.

“Are you alright?” He whispered into your ear. You shivered, only this time from his closeness.

“I don’t know anymore. It’s getting harder to control it.” You slowly pulled away from the hug, savoring the feeling of his arms around you. He refused to let you go untouched though, as his gloved hands slowly travelled down your arms and gently rested above your own, knowing that they scared you just a bit right now. You allowed your eyes to sink into his comforting ones, always finding him to be your safe haven when something horrific like this happened. The frozen librarian, mid between adjusting her glasses, was poking your brain with a little pencil until it won a spot in the worrying center of your brain.

“I swear, Had, I didn’t mean to freeze the librarian.”

Hades broke eye contact with you to look at the librarian, and a chuckle escaped from his lips before he could stop it. You gaped at him in disbelief. Was he seriously laughing about a person you froze? It was a bit entertaining watching him try to suppress his laughter before he suddenly burst into a fit of his signature evil laughter, the one that you fell in love with.

“Are you seriously laughing about me freezing the librarian? Hades, I froze a person!”

“I know, I know you did, sweetheart,” he gasped for breath. “It’s just, you know, if we were to take over the kingdom...” He stepped closer to you, having to crane his head down a bit to look at you as he wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing your heart to stop.

“H-Hades!” You stuttered, running a flustered hand through your hair, trying to avert his gaze. A blush was already rising to your cheeks, and of course he caught notice of it. He gently ran his fingers through a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of place, watching you with a sly smirk on his face.

“Come on, love. You would make a gorgeous Queen of the Underworld.” He leaned down slightly so your foreheads were touching. Being this close to him, you could see the heavy eye liner he wore perfectly. It made him look like a true rock star. A small smile grew onto your lips and before you knew it, you were giggling like you were high.

“What’s so funny?” Hades grinned, snaking his arms around your waist protectively. You intertwined your fingers around your neck in return, and gazed dreamily into his eyes. Oh, how you could get lost in those eyes.

“Just how it’s been about three years since they took down the barrier, and you’re still wearing my eyeliner and wanting me to be your queen.”

He tilted his head to the side and smirked at you. “My dear, I thought we established a long time ago that I have always wanted you to be my queen.”

You scoffed and gently fixed his spiky, electric hair. “You shouldn’t joke about stuff like that, Had.”

“Oh, but it distracted you didn’t it?”

“From what?” You were genuinely confused until Hades’s knowing crooked smile told you everything you needed to know. As you both glanced around the room around you, I suddenly realized that everything was back to normal. Even the librarian, who was sopping wet and rather frazzled about her water damaged book. Turning back to your loving partner in crime, you felt the butterflies flutter as you traced your finger along his jawline. His eyes never left you.

“Have I ever told you how good you are for me?” You whispered.

He feigned thought, pressing his lips together and looking off to the side. “I’m not sure, love. But maybe you can show me?” He tapped his lips, raising his eyebrows at you excitedly. Rolling your eyes, you let the smile take over your lips as you stepped on your tiptoes and closed the distance.

♡♡♡

It had been six months since the incident in the library. Hades had gotten very protective of you over the past months, always following you around and keeping his arm around you (well, he did that all the time), and making sure no one said or did anything to upset you. He was always peppering you in kisses and hugs, and when you were alone, things always got a bit more heated (not that you minded, of course ;). Whenever you had another one of your episodes, he was always right there to comfort you. He always knew exactly what to do to calm you down. His favorite topic for distraction was making you his Queen of the Underworld, taking over the whole kingdom and ruling for your immortal lives. It wasn’t to say that you weren’t partial to the idea, but you knew that Mal and Ben were going to make great rulers.

You didn’t want to ruin that for your lover’s daughter.

Things had seemed to have gotten a lot better. Life with Hades was amazing, and you pretty sure he was close to popping the question per Mal and Evie’s hints. You had made great friends with the VKs, and you even were accepted as part of the royal family. You had almost completely forgotten about the burning hatred in your veins. But of course, things could never stay good in your life for long.

It was the week of Mal’s baby shower, as the announcement had came out only a day or two before. But Evie, of course, had a feeling and jumped the gun before anyone had a chance. Ever since the girl had started getting more serious with Doug, she had been a complete radiance of positivity. More than she had ever been before. Everyone was in a frenzy trying to get things ready for it, and even you were a bit sparky as well. You, Hades, and Mal were out for a walk in the forest, trying to get Mal away from all of the stress that wasn’t good for her or for the baby. You and Hades walked with intertwined fingers as Mal walked beside you, admiring the bright sky above.

“How have you been doing, Y/n?” She asked you curiously, her eyes twinkling.

You giggled. “I should be asking you that, Mal.”

“Please, it’ll give me a distraction. It’s been nothing but me and the baby and Ben lately.” Mal sighed, leaning her head back so her purple locks tumbled off her shoulders. You watched her with a smile. She certainly did look like her mother.

“I’ve been a lot better than I was before,” you replied honestly, feeling Hades gently squeeze your hand. “My powers have been getting a lot more... controllable lately.”

That caught Mal’s attention. “Really? That’s wonderful! We’ve all been worried about you...” You raised an eyebrow.

“Really?” Mal nodded her head.

“Everyone’s been worried that you’re going to go rogue,” Hades scoffed. “That could never happen, unfortunately.”

You and Mal exchanged a glance, then stopped walking in sync to stare at the god. He looked at you both in confusion. “What?”

“Why ‘unfortunately’?” You questioned.

He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You know I love it when you’re off your rocker, darling. It’s more you that way.”

Mal giggled at his comment and gently shouldered you, sending a wink. You smiled at her in return as you all continued your walk. The peace was soon interrupted by the sound of footsteps running in your direction. Turning around in confusion, you put an arm out before Mal and Hades in protection before you recognized the figure as Carlos. He stopped in front of you all, bending over slightly to catch his breath.

“Carlos?” You asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Y/n,” he gasped. “It’s your brother.”

“My brother?” You furrowed your brows. The very sound of his title sent a sharp pain throughout your body. “What about him?”

“He’s here in Auradon. He’s come to see you.”

To be continued...

♡ a.a.

#descendants hades x reader #descendants x reader #descendants #descendants 3 #hades x reader #descendants hades

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